friends that become family
by Cordelia Rose
Summary: Series of chapters revolving around times the boys at Dalton Academy were good friends to Kurt.
1. Chapter 1

Just a few notes:  
I went to a boarding school for three years, so my experience of them is the basis for what Dalton Academy is like, because it's not particularly well-explained in the show. However, my boarding school was in rural England and not America, so who knows what the differences are. That being said, I've made it so the boys each have their own room, and there are separate 'halls' in different buildings. Again, this is just my experience and also makes it easier for me to write this story, so take it all with a grain of salt, and if anything is wildly inaccurate I apologise in advance.  
Secondly, I am such a sucker for Kurt & Warbler friendship fics. They're like crack to me. So I decided to try my own hand at it, hope you enjoy!

Thirdly,I have a few ideas for future chapters, but I don't know how many chapters this will have or if it will be updated on a regular basis. Subscribe at your own peril!

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 **Chapter 1: Wes**

The walls between rooms aren't thin, exactly, but they're not soundproof either. A conversation at normal volume can't be overheard, but shouting, or crashes when someone tries to jump onto their desk while singing and the entire thing collapses (Blaine) are pretty audible to everyone in the hall.

Which is why Wes startles awake at 2:57am one Wednesday morning from a scream.

After a few moments of bleary confusion, during which he karate-chops his Chemistry textbook, he realises that it was Kurt screaming, because a) it seemed to come from very close-by, and as Wes's room is at the very end of their halls, Kurt is his only neighbour; and b) it's a very high-pitched shriek, somewhere around the _Defying Gravity_ high F, which Wes knows only Kurt can reach. He shoves his feet into his slippers (shut up David, slippers don't make him an old man, they're practical) and pads out to find half of the dormitory's occupants have also been roused and are groggily trying to figure out what's going on.

Blaine's room is on the other side of Kurt's, and then next to him is David, who thankfully is also awake and outside his door. Blaine, of course, is still asleep, because Blaine sleeps like the dead (once the bookshelf in his room fell over and he didn't wake up, though everyone else in the entire building did) until his body decides it's bored now, and then he jerks awake all at once with all the energy of a man who's downed ten shots of espresso. David catches his eye and raises an eyebrow in query, and Wes makes a small shrugging motion in response and then jerks his head towards Kurt's door.

It's times like this that he's glad for their friendship, because David immediately recognises the gesture to mean 'I'm pretty sure that was Kurt, and I'm going to check on him, could you please make sure that none of these well-meaning but idiotic miscreants come barging in to ask if he wants to play COD to cheer up', and he starts ushering people back to their rooms, all the while keeping an eye on Kurt's door to make sure nobody's heading over there.

Apart from Wes, of course. He knocks twice, waits for an answer, then slips in after thirty seconds of silence with a soft, "Kurt?" He closes the door behind him, looks around the room (dimly lit by a small lamp on the desk) and then hears the unmistakeable sound of retching from the en-suite bathroom.

Well, good thing he's not a sympathetic vomiter.

"Kurt," he says again, mainly to warn him of his presence, then raps on the bathroom door with his knuckles. He doesn't receive permission to come in but he overhears more pitiful noises, including what sounds like a pained whimper, so he tries the handle and the door opens easily. Kurt's kneeling over the toilet, one hand clutching at his own stomach as he empties its contents, and the other scrabbling uselessly for grip on the tiled floor as he heaves. His hair isn't styled and flops over his forehead, and he's wearing a massive football jersey that swamps his frame. The entire thing makes him look about five years younger than he actually is, and the usual protective bubble that Wes gets in his chest around Kurt swells to about fifty times its normal size.

Without thinking, he drops to a crouch behind the younger boy and smooths one hand through his hair, the other dropping to rub between his shoulder blades. "It's okay," Wes says, "it's all okay," though maybe it isn't, he's not sure.

Kurt shudders and throws up again. Not for very long this time, though, which Wes takes as a good sign. Another fit of retching brings up what appears to be mostly bile. Kurt chokes on the acrid taste of it, takes a moment to recover, and then delicately closes the toilet lid. He flushes by pressing the handle down carefully with two fingers, grimacing even as he does so. Unsteadily, he clambers to his feet, either not noticing or pretending not to notice Wes's hands under his elbows, and stumbles over to the sink. Wes stays crouched, not wanting to spook him or invade his personal space.

He simply watches as Kurt turns on the tap and washes his hands like a surgeon would, passing the bar of soap over his hands and fingers and halfway up his wrists, working up a lather until he's finally satisfied. The water coming out of the tap is steaming, it's so hot, but Kurt doesn't react as he washes the soap off, then picks up the towel and pats his skin dry meticulously. Rubbing is probably bad for you or something. The hot water is switched off in favour of cold, and Kurt grabs a small paper cup and rinses his mouth out. Then he brushes his teeth, has another rinse with the water, then with some mouthwash, then water again, then turns off the tap and throws the paper cup in the trashcan.

Finally, he turns around, looking remarkably composed. "Thank you for coming to check on me, Wesley, but I'm fine now. I'll let you get back to sleep." He smiles, close-mouthed, and his eyes stay carefully blank.

Wes considers, then pushes off the floor to stand, wincing when his knees click. "I think I'll stay for a bit longer," he says, equally as pleasantly, and guides Kurt out of the bathroom with a hand on the small of his back so fluidly that he doesn't protest. Kurt flicks the light off as they exit and shuts the door behind him, then goes to open the bedroom door. "No, Kurt, I'm staying," he says firmly, and Kurt stops in his tracks and then turns back to him.

"Wesley, I would hate to keep you from being well-rested—" Kurt begins another protest, but Wes interrupts him by pressing on his shoulders until his knees buckle under the pressure and he ends up sitting down on the edge of his bed.

He wasn't planning on going anywhere without checking Kurt wasn't physically ill anyway, but now there are some serious alarm bells going off in his mind. For one thing, Kurt keeps calling him Wesley, which is something he has never done before. Also, Kurt's a bitch most of the time, and only seems to put aside that attitude and his diva behaviour around Blaine (and even then only some of the time), so his eerily formal and polite behaviour makes Wes want to shake him and tell him to make a snide comment about how Wes's slippers and pyjamas don't match. It used to irritate him, Kurt being like that, but now it's just _Kurt_.

"I don't want to push you into talking about anything you're uncomfortable with," he begins, crouching again (his legs are going to pay for that later) so he's at the same level with Kurt. He looks even paler than usual, but Wes can't tell if it's from emesis or emotions. Both? Neither? "But I also don't feel comfortable leaving you alone after you were distressed enough to scream and then throw up."

Kurt doesn't say anything, just stares at a spot over Wes's shoulder and nibbles at his lower lip. A minute passes, then another. Wes waits patiently. He knows if he just bides his time, shows Kurt that he's not going anywhere, that he actually cares, then –

"It was just a nightmare." The words come out on a hurried exhale, sounding even breathier than his voice usually does. Also more untruthful than usual.

"'Just'?"

"A…memory, and then a nightmare," Kurt amends. "I-uh—" _Stuttering_ is added to his mental list, along with _Wesley_ and _being nice_. "Something happened, with a jock, at my – my last school. That's the memory. Sometimes, my brain likes to imagine what would have, uh, _happened_ , had I not…gotten away." Kurt accentuates the last two words with a gesture that somewhat resembles sad jazz hands, an obvious attempt at his usual exuberance that falls flat.

Wes doesn't want to pry, he really doesn't, and he especially doesn't want to push Kurt back to that place he'd been when he'd first started at Dalton; hesitant, jumpy, shielding himself with sharp words and caustic actions that had made Wes dislike him until he realised just how good Kurt had gotten at hiding who he really was, and endeavoured to peel away his protective mask. (Which turned out to be totally worth it.) However…he also doesn't want to do nothing. "Does Blaine know?"

Kurt smiles a little, the first time that night. Wes counts it as a victory, even if it is technically because he brought up someone else. "He knows everything," he says softly. Wes thinks that maybe they've stopped talking about just the nightmares.

"So you are talking to someone about it?"

Kurt nods. "Yes, and I'm fine, Wes. Now, seriously, you should get to bed. It's a long day tomorrow."

Wes considers. A full day of classes, meaning eight hours of lessons almost back-to-back, and then two hours of Warbler practice following that. "True," he mutters to himself, then grabs Kurt's skinny ankles and lifts his legs up onto the bed.

"What are you—?" Kurt near-squawks when Wes manhandles him (gently and carefully) into the middle of the bed, and climbs on next to him.

"I call big spoon," Wes replies cheerfully, and pulls up the covers from where they've been kicked to the bottom of the mattress. "Come on." He curls himself round Kurt's back before he can answer, or protest, or do anything, and stays carefully still so he can feel if Kurt tenses or freaks out.

There's a moment where Kurt _does_ tense, but it ends almost as soon as it begins and he relaxes, squirming back a little bit and cementing himself more firmly into the cuddle. "Thanks, Wes," he says quietly, and yawns.

Before he can answer, the door swings open, a knock added as an afterthought. "Everyone's gone back to bed," David announces. "And I checked on Blaine. He's actually managed to twist himself half out of bed– his head's on the floor. I put a pillow under him, he'll be fine."

Kurt's already falling asleep and answers, "Mmph." If he was awake, his response would be more along the lines of "Dear Gaga no he'll break his neck in the middle of the night David go pick him up _now_ and put him back before he dies", and Wes looks up just in time to see the same realization hit David.

They've both discovered at this point – mostly thanks to Blaine, who has many a late-night study session with Kurt – that the younger boy is much more pliant and uncharacteristically open to physical affection when he's tired, so David wastes no time in announcing, "Kurt sandwich!" triumphantly, and takes a flying jump onto the spare side of the bed.

The entire bed jolts with the motion, and Wes smacks David on the shoulder and Kurt groans a little at being jolted. He sighs happily, though, when David settles down against Kurt's front and throws an arm over him and Wes. "Cuddle pile," he chirps, and looks contrite when Kurt protests against the noise sleepily.

Blaine wakes them up at six-thirty sharp the next morning, looking rather adorably disgruntled that he wasn't involved, but it's a testament to the Wevid bromance and how well he knows Kurt that he doesn't seem particularly surprised by what's going on. His expression transitions into gruntled when Kurt sleepily tugs him on top of them, effectively adding him to the cuddle pile, even as Wes and David complain about being squashed.

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If you have any ideas for future chapters or particular characters you want to appear, please let me know! And thank you so much for reading 3


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, guys! First-off, a shoutout to KlainePotter621 for beta'ing this for me. Secondly, this chapter is for grlnxtdr29, who requested "something with Trent", and also for Dwi-chan the Ancient Mistery, who backed them up and has also asked for something with Niff or more Wevid bromance, which I will get right on! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited, or just read, it really makes me so happy! I see you, and I love you. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Warning: discussion of issues alluding to an eating disorder

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Trent walks out of the changing room jauntily and promptly smacks right into Blaine's back. Affronted, he steps around him and opens his mouth to tell Blaine off, but stops when he sees his friend's expression. It's a cross between elation, terror and apprehension. Trent follows his line of sight to find the cheerleading squad, a merge between Dalton (though there are currently no boys on the squad) and Crawford County Day, wearing short skirts and tight shorts, standing around chatting or lazily stretching.

Trent understands for a few seconds – oh, Blaine is just staring at the cheerleaders like any other teenage boy – before he remembers that, in fact, Blaine is very gay; and the last time Dalton had a sex education class Blaine had nearly fainted at the picture of a vagina. So Blaine staring at a load of female cheerleaders doesn't really add up.

"Blaine?" Trent asks unsurely. Blaine makes an odd strangled sound in the back of his throat and keeps staring. Trent scans the group again and this time catches sight of Kurt, sitting between two girls that he vaguely recognises. He's got one leg fully extended out to his right, and the other bent so his sneaker-clad foot is pressed to his thigh. "Oh, Kurt joined the squad?"

Blaine nods, then swallows and blinks. "He's wearing yoga pants," he whispers in a hoarse voice.

On cue, Kurt bends forwards and slowly hauls himself up to a standing position, before turning to talk to another of the girls. Trent had never seen the appeal of the male body before, personally, but maybe he can kind of understand now. Blaine whimpers next to him.

"Try not a pop a boner," Thad appears suddenly on Blaine's other side, sounding far too cheerful. "These football shorts hide nothing."

"I don't want to know how you know that," Trent says, faintly distressed.

"Macy." Thad points at his girlfriend, who's currently executing a pair of splits like it's nothing.

"They keep stretching," Blaine mutters, eyes still fixed on Kurt.

"Hang in there, bro," Thad says sympathetically, patting Blaine on the shoulder. "Don't let them smell your weakness," he adds, looking alarmed, when Wes and David approach, twin evil grins on their faces.

Too late, apparently, because as soon as they reach them, David says, "Enjoying the show, Blainers?"

Blaine glares at him, opens his mouth to retort, but then his gaze slides back to Kurt and he makes a sound like, "Gah." They all glance round to see Kurt bent over backwards in the bridge position. His clothes stretch so tightly against his body that Trent reckons he could probably count every single one of Kurt's ribs. Then he frowns. He probably shouldn't be able to do that. He ignores the vaguely leery comments that pretty much everyone is throwing at Blaine – because everyone, apart from Kurt and Blaine themselves, is aware that Blaine is utterly in love with Kurt, and vice versa – and thinks back to shared meals with Kurt. Now that he properly reflects upon it, he realises that Kurt's never actually eaten that much; he pushes his food around and eats no more than a few mouthfuls.

Well, that just won't do.

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Trent checks in with Blaine under the pretence of clarifying their Bio homework, and, with some clever tactics, manages to find out where Kurt is. (It's not so clever, really – Blaine will happily talk about Kurt for hours, so all Trent had to do was say the other boy's name once and he was off on a ramble. Whatever, he's still proud of himself.)

True to Blaine's borderline creepy information, Kurt is indeed in the indoor gym, carefully tapping away at the screen of a treadmill. He doesn't react to Trent entering; when he gets closer, he hears muted music and realises Kurt has his headphones in.

"Kurt," he says loudly, but gets no response. He taps him on the shoulder instead. Kurt jumps and spins round rapidly, eyes wide, then sighs heavily and pulls out his headphones.

"Do you get a kick out of sneaking up on people?" he snaps, sounding genuinely peeved.

Trent thinks he's just angry before he sees Kurt's hands shaking where they clutch onto his iPod and headphones, and thinks that perhaps 'sneaking up' on someone who was badly bullied at their last school was kind of a dick move, accidental or not. "Sorry," Trent says genuinely, wanting to reach out and put a hand on Kurt's shoulder, but restraining himself. Kurt doesn't seem to like touching or being touched by other people, from what Trent's seen – Blaine the exception to that rule, of course. "I didn't know your music was so loud."

Kurt looks contrite for a second, before he goes back to his usual neutral expression – carefully blank with a hint of arrogance, a cautiously constructed mask. "I do have my volume rather high," he concedes, in a tone of voice that clearly screams he's not used to accepting even a smidgen of blame for any situation. "Trent, how can I help you?"

Trent pauses for a second. He hadn't really planned out how to talk to Kurt about this; going about it the wrong way could make it seem like an interrogation, and Kurt is wont to put his back up even when he has no need to. Eventually, he decides honesty might just be the best way to go about it. "I'm kind of worried," he admits, and watches Kurt's eyebrows raise. "About you."

"I—" Kurt breaks himself off, looking genuinely confused for once. "Trent, there's nothing to worry about," he finally says, fiddling with his iPod and not quite meeting Trent's eyes with his own.

"There is," Trent insists. "I might be overstepping, but I've seen how you barely eat, and how skinny you look, and now Blaine tells me you come down to the gym most days?"

"Nothing wrong with eating healthily," Kurt says stiffly, shoving his iPod into the pocket of his hoodie. "And having a regular exercise routine. You know you should work out for an hour every day? And they've upped it to nine fruit and vegetables a day now."

"There is nothing wrong with that," Trent agrees, "and it's fine to work out and eat vegetables, as long as you do other things too."

"Trent, I really—"

"Humour me." Kurt falls silent, bites his lip. "Please. Just – you barely eat anything at mealtimes, you just drink loads and play with your food, and then you do cheerleading and work out here – and I just don't see how it's healthy."

"It's healthy." Kurt's voice cracks. "It's – I'm healthy."

"Are you?" Trent asks carefully, trying to meet his eyes. He knows he has to tread carefully now. Pushing too hard will make Kurt retreat into his shell and refuse to talk; not pushing enough will mean Kurt isn't honest, with Trent or himself.

"I'm healthy," Kurt repeats. "I don't get dizzy when I exercise, I don't throw up after I eat, okay?"

"Are you doing any psychology classes?" Kurt shakes his head, looking rather bemused at the change of topics. "Okay, well, there's this thing, called learned helplessness – basically when an animal is put in a bad situation that it can't escape from, over and over again, it eventually stops trying to escape, and just lets the bad thing happen. Like if you hit a dog loads, it would stop trying to run away, and just let itself be hit."

Kurt looks even more confused. "I'm not being abused."

"I know! I know, just," Trent fumbles. This made sense in his head. "That's a mind thing, right? But maybe it can be a body thing, too. Maybe if you don't give your body enough food or the right care it stops trying to tell you that it needs it, and just lets you do whatever. And you don't realise how bad it's gotten, until it's not there anymore." Wow, that was the absolute worse analogy he's ever given. But Kurt's smiling.

"That makes sense," he says softly, and Trent thinks, _It does?_ "The body adapts so that it can survive and because it doesn't know any better." On some level, Kurt seems to have appreciated the slightly clumsy and unclear explanation. He doesn't seem to ever ask for help; maybe he likes that someone is just as confused and clueless as he is, and is struggling along with him rather than lecturing at him.

"Exactly," Trent says, almost totally sure that they're on the same page. "And I'm not saying that you're, like, _unhealthy_ , per se, but maybe more that you're just…not healthy." For a second, Kurt freezes, his face screws up slightly, and Trent panics, thinking he's pushed too much.

Then: "I'm probably underweight. I keep trying to get rid of my hips, but they won't go. I went on a diet, and then…it was just easier not to eat loads, I guess."

"Your hips?"

"My old cheerleading coach thinks I have pear hips. One of those things, you know? A comment that get stuck in your brain." Kurt smiles wryly, but sadly.

"She sounds like a dick," Trent says honestly, and Kurt laughs softly, looking almost scandalised by the comment. "I think your hips are fine. And, like, so what if you have pear hips? I mean, are you defined by just your hips?"

"I guess not." Kurt uncrosses his arms, pats at his hips gently. "My mom wouldn't want me to hate my hips."

It seems like a non-sequitur, but then Trent remembers that his mom died when he was eight. "She wouldn't want you to hate any of yourself," he points out. "I think she'd just want you to be healthy and happy."

Kurt nods slowly, like he's experiencing some kind of epiphany. Perhaps he is. "Are there scales in here?" He looks around the otherwise deserted gym room and comes up short.

"Not in here, but there's a set in each bathroom."

Kurt nods again, and glances up but doesn't maintain the eye contact for long before he drops it back to his feet. "I know BMI isn't fool-proof, but maybe it's a place to start?"

"Yeah! Yeah." Trent knows he must be grinning like an idiot, but this is a massive step-forward. "Want to go do it now?"

"If you're free," Kurt says shyly. "And if you want to."

Trent recognises it as much more than just a question; it's a tentative step across the ice covering a lake, testing if it will hold or crack, if he can trust Trent or not. "I'd be happy to," he says emphatically, and turns towards the door. "Your bathroom or mine?" He grimaces at how weird the sentence sounds.

"Might as well use mine." Kurt follows him towards the door, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as they step outside into the brisk chill. "Thank you, Trent."

"It's really no problem, Kurt."

Kurt turns out to be underweight, as both of them guessed, but the next day at lunch he eats almost the entirety of his salad, and then snacks on a protein bar after his cheerleading practice, while he studies with Blaine. It's not exactly perfect, but it's a start.

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I hope this wasn't too OOC – I'm going off personal experiences for this particular chapter, but obviously everyone is very different and I tried to make it fit in with Kurt's personality and also Trent's, as much as we've seen it on the show. Let me know if you have any ideas for future chapters, I'm always happy to hear them, reviews are muchly appreciated, and I love you all! Thank you for reading!


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